


A Fallen Star

by Amethyst97Skye



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Loki Wins, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), F/M, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Religious Conflict, Secrets, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 09:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst97Skye/pseuds/Amethyst97Skye
Summary: “His Highness Lord Loki, Emperor of Earth, Master of Midgard, God of Fire and Chaos, desires your presence this evening.”





	A Fallen Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [animefreak141](https://archiveofourown.org/users/animefreak141/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Loki x Reader - Give me Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2262204) by [animefreak141](https://archiveofourown.org/users/animefreak141/pseuds/animefreak141). 



     There was no concept of time in the Tower. There were no doors to unlock, no windows to open, nothing to see through and learn where the sun was, what season gripped the country, or what had become of the world since the Chitauri invaded Earth. Midgard, they called it. One of the Nine Realms tied to Yggdrasil, the World Tree. Some whispered that it had only been six months since Lord Loki defeated the Avengers. Others claimed it had been a year. Many were convinced it had been far longer.

     A secret government agency – S.H.I.E.L.D., the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division – was, supposedly, still fighting for the future of humanity, aiding the Avengers’ attempts to overthrow Lord Loki. “Attempts” being the keyword. There were many, and they all failed. All of them.

     The Tower was rife with knowledge and secrets. Sometimes they would learn of an attack mere “hours” after it occurred. Sometimes it would be “months” later, the damage but dust in the wind and dried blood beneath their feet. Gossip and rumours were the lifeblood of the Tower, but the Girls would never say anything against their Masters, or their Emperor. Maybe the Avengers were dead – or worse: captured, imprisoned, tortured until they turned – but they could very well still be out there, biding their time, gathering information, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

     As far as Sky was concerned, the Avengers – assassins, science experiments, super soldiers and living Gods – were alive, and nothing anyone said would convince her otherwise. It was not a popular opinion, one she quickly learned to keep to herself, but if she agreed with the masses, if she was obedient, if she bowed and prayed and blessed their saviour for _rescuing_ them, no one could attest that she was not loyal to their Lord.

     Sky eased a sigh through her nostrils and inhaled the same way. Colloquially, she lived in what people called the “Guest Quarters”, but every Girl knew those rooms for what they truly were. They knew that, once you emerged from the Dungeon, returning was a death sentence. It meant you displeased the Lord, and He was not known for his mercy.

     Tossing over the inevitability of her fate was not, and never had, helped Sky fall asleep, but her insomnia was nothing new. She shivered, shuddering, curling tighter into a ball of limbs, thin cotton, and stale straw. Something cold ran down the length of her spine. On some nights, Sky was convinced the act was administered by a pair of fingers. On others, she was too exhausted to care. Wide awake as she was, Sky slowly turned over, allowing her back to face the gate of her cell. She was under no illusions. She was a prisoner, a slave, a servant, easily broken, easily replaced, easily forgotten.

     The call for “lights out” felt like “hours” ago, but Sky could not be sure. There were always soldiers on guard. They were usually human, and usually fair on first-time offenders, but a Girl was not just risking her life by trying to escape. If they somehow past the Guards, they were executed for incompetence, and the Girl was made to watch. Sometimes, she returned. Sometimes, she was never seen again. It made no difference. Her fate had been written long ago. Every Girl in the Tower had it branded into their skin. Depending on their handler, it could be burnt in, carved in, or sewn in. The Good Girls were Inked, marked as property of the Lord Himself, but they had to win his favour, first. Fight for it, win it, and defend it unto death.

     Now she faced the wall, Sky was free to open her eyes. It had been heavily patched, repaired with Chitauri plating and securely welded with Energy Torches. There was, however, one panel that, over time, Sky’s predecessors had worn loose. Instead of burnt scoring, it had been screwed in, and all six of them had been removed at great cost. They were tight, even now, and despite all the callous she had accumulated, Sky cut her fingers, tore the pads to shreds, broke nails, ripped some off completely, and even broke bones. As a Worthy Woman, one who all Girls should admire, respect, and emulate, one of the Sorcerers had tended her wounds. When asked how she came by them, Sky answered honestly: she was finishing their work. Someone would get punished, usually whoever her eyes happened to land on or, should she speak, whoever she identified. There were no names, no titles, nothing but generic descriptions. If any Girl started developing a real Personality, the Teachers would see her re-educated in a swift and strict manner.

     There were several Girls Sky did not like, but of them, there was one in particular who stood out. She called herself Lady. She liked to order her “Children” about, have them complete her chores, finish her work, and tolerate any punishments she would have otherwise endured. She was not much of a lady anymore. Her skin was red instead of white, scarred instead of flawless, her Personality punctured and deflated. Her “Children” were quick to abandon her once they realised the truth: she was just another Girl. She was just like them.

     Sky removed the screws carefully, stowing them atop her flat straw mattress. It was all she had to ward off the cold that seeped through the floor, and when combined with her dress, it was usually enough. Tonight, however, Sky was aware of the fingers crawling up and down the length of her spine. They seemed impatient. She was working as fast as she could.

     Had anyone asked her _before_ she arrived in the Tower, Sky would have declared herself a firm disbeliever of magic. That included omnipotent beings, the miracles that they supposedly fashioned from thin air, and the spirits they guided to Hell or Heaven. Now, Sky knew that Gods were real. Now, Sky believed that spirits – ghosts, specifically – existed. Now, Sky was waiting for a miracle.

     Beyond the heavy panelling – which she took great care to set down in a shadowed corner, far away from any human eyes – was a tunnel of some kind. It was not made of stone or rock but bendable metal and its name had only recently returned to her. Vent. This was a vent, something that transported air. It explained why the Chitauri did not simply weld it off. Without air, there were no Girls, and without Girls, there would be no servants. People were captured from all over Earth, but only those that past the Inspections made it to the Tower. It meant nothing to Sky. Girls that cleared Inspections died every day. They were too weak, too strong, too willful, too obedient, too dependent, too independent – The list went on, and on, and on. The Finalists said that serving Lord Loki was a nightmare. The Graduates said serving Lord Loki was a dream come true. One of the Inked, a Worthy Woman who became a Teacher, decreed that serving Lord Loki was humanity’s destiny, that mankind had finally found its place in the universe.

     Sky did not know how much time passed, but as she crawled out of the vent, landing purposefully in the empty, abandoned room, beyond the see-through walls, the sky was still dark. Pinpricks of light shone like eyes, crumpets of clouds curled like ears, and the ground continued on forever, the creature encompassing the entire horizon, its heads many, but its body invisible.

     She would sit there, admiring the sight, the namesake she granted herself. She would sit there, trying to remember everything she had forgotten. She would sit there, praying, thanking the Lord for his blessings. It was more than any living Girl would ever see from the Tower, but it was not something Sky could share safely, even if she wanted to. Rations could be exchanged for future shift changes, but Sky traded hers for water. If she let her blood accumulate on the screws, it would start to smell, and the Trainers, or the Teachers, would uncover her secret.

     The spine-tingling sensation was gone. Sky took that as a positive sign: the spirits were appeased with the sight before her eyes, the open abyss of living darkness. Sometimes, they lingered, as if they wanted her to go further, but Sky could not breach the see-through walls. She tried, many times, but they were too think, and she was too weak. The room they protected held strange objects, tools with no discernible purpose, and much more besides. Something she could use to escape, perhaps, and it was as good a purpose as any to keep her occupied. To keep her sane.

     Tonight, Sky fished out a strange memory, a skinless handmade from a silver metal that bore a white star on its palm. She could not, for the life of her Lord, discern why it felt familiar, but Sky nestled the hand in her arms, like a mother would a child, laying it to rest in a box of stringy, soft paper that rustled quietly when disturbed.

     Suddenly, Sky stiffened. The tingling had returned, but it was a different kind, a painful awareness. She turned around, scanning the room, but she could not see anything – certainly, nothing living – and no one emerged from the vent, or swooped down to arrest her for breaking curfew. Her shoulders tensed as she approached the vent, ears relaying the crumpled sound of overlapping voices through the hole.

     “Lord guide me,” she gasped, throwing herself to the ground.

     She crawled forth with more precision than speed, forcing herself to slow down and breathe evenly. Unless there had been an incident, it was unusual for the Guards to patrol, but the voices sounded heavier, harder. Not Guards, then. They could be Trainers, Teachers, or perhaps Traders. They appeared without warning, usually when the Lord lost a Worthy Woman or sought to replace a Girl. If the demand was high, a Finalist was often promoted, but they had been known to settle for an Obedient. Sometimes, they took one of the Uneducated, Untrained, or a Child. The Children were never seen again.

     By some miracle – “Thank the Lord!” – Sky reached her room with time to spare, but it was not enough to secure all six screws. Swiftly, she set four aside before inserting one with the plate and added a second for good measure. She worked quickly, tearing through new callouses and old scars as a storm of footsteps approached.

     “My Lord –”

     Sky froze. Sound _carried_ in the Dungeon as if the spirits physically passed it from cell to cell. There was no doubt now: every Girl would be awake, listening, fearing for their future.

     “– the Finalists are more than ready for the end assessments. They can –”

     “Continue their training,” a soft, silken voice admonished.

     Three down, three to go.

     “If you seek to educate a Child –”

     “Not tonight, Teacher Worthy. Please, do not let me keep you from your duties.”

     “Or me you from yours, my Lord,” she replied, gracefully calm, content – Sky thought – that her Children would remain unharmed. For now. The Teacher was Worthy for a reason.

     “Then you seek Obedience. I can recommend –”

     “If I want your recommendations, I shall ask for them. Do not suppose your desires match mine.”

     His tone was cool, not cold, but bitter, tart, not at all sweet, and yet reassuring without any evidence of anger or unrest. Silently, Sky scolded herself for listening and picked up the last two screws before kneeling atop her straw bed, cupping her hands as if in prayer. It would suffice. It had to. She had no time to attempt anything else.

     “My desires lie with yours, my Lord.”

     Sky felt that a bold exclamation and her heart hammered against her ribs as she listened. The Lord’s words were softly spoken, so quiet as to be a whisper, a breath of smoke rising from one of the torch fires that had ignited upon His entrance. The Trainer’s reply was equally reserved, if in a heavy-handed manner that spoke of his displeasure.

     “Agreed,” uttered a third, foreign voice.

     Lord Loki sounded British, if only distantly, and the Trainer was obviously American, but the third had an odd voice. It was certainly not Chitauri, but it did not sound quite human, either, but did Sky know enough to distinguish the accent. European, Asian, Russian – only the Lord would know.

     “She is Obedient but Untrained,” the Trainer advised, voice wary, “and thus ineligible for promotion. But… she _is_ of age.”

     They stopped outside her cell. They did not move on. It was only the practise, the pain and terror of past experiences, that kept her heart beating. She waited for the Trainer to unlock her cage, but the jangle of keys never met her ears.

     “His Highness Lord Loki, Emperor of Earth, Master of Midgard, God of Fire and Chaos, desires your presence this evening.”

     Sky knew he did not agree, but he would not deny his Lord, even if he overturned the system on a whim. It mattered not because that was His right. She could not determine if the regret in his voice was sincere, but it mattered not because he was honour bound to announce her sentence, and the dead silence served to invoke the belief of every Girl and Child present. It was inevitable, but Sky was not prepared for the blow. She had not finished their work. She had not completed her purpose.

     Situated as she was, lying on her pile of stale straw, Sky watched, powerless, as an expensively dressed pair of feet and robed legs phase through the bars. For a moment, they glimmered gold, highlighting His form in a halo of exquisite light, and Sky could not help but think it beautiful. With His back to the torches, the Lord cut an imposing figure, His shadow climbing the walls as if seeking out weaknesses and secrets, but Sky was not afraid. Her fear had deserted her, departed as if it had never existed. She raised her eyes without permission, without sanction, meeting a pair of marvellous aquamarine orbs, colours interchanging between a deep emerald green, and a bright sapphire blue, merging and revolving with the power they held. She felt His presence acutely, the weight of a thousand realms bearing down upon her as He, Lord Loki, knelt before her.

     What was this sorcery?

     Sky rose with His hand, not on cue but on instinct because she was not opposed to the company, not when she felt her body opening like the petals of a flower greeting the first rays of spring. Such memories were distantly vague recollections, but the smell of fresh grass, sweet pollen, and salty air was strong enough to taste. She licked her lips, unconsciously, and those depth defying orbs narrowed, watching the muscle trail over capped, broken, and bloodied skin.

     “What happened to your hands?” He asked, orbs dipping down.

     Sky looked down at the blood, the torn flesh, the twisted scars. He could never know the truth.

     “The Emperor asked you a question!”

     “Cease. She is fine. She can answer in her own time,” the Lord replied, wiping her eyes.

     The fingers that sailed across her cheek, the pads that cast away her tears, framing her face, they were cold, calculating, every act deliberate, defined in one manner or another, all of which were above and beyond Sky’s ability to describe. She did, however, know them, recognise them, the moves, the act of patient reassurance, a dishearteningly familiar and friendly reminded that she was not alone, that someone was watching over her, running his froze, phantom fingers down her spine as she slept.

     Sky looked down at the pale hand He offered. She tightened her fists and slowly, carefully, extended her empty left hand, the rusted screws digging into the palm of her right. He clasped it in his, and Sky knew he would never let go.


End file.
